


Note from the Inquisitorial Archives #6

by professorplum221



Series: Notes from the Inquisitorial Archives [6]
Category: Warhammer 40.000, Warhammer 40k (Novels) - Various Authors
Genre: Alcohol, Funny, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-01-04
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:07:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28551375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/professorplum221/pseuds/professorplum221
Summary: Ciaphas Cain attempts to recount some hazy recollections of exceedingly silly events following his escape from the hijacked Wavecrest
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Ciaphas Cain/Amberley Vail
Series: Notes from the Inquisitorial Archives [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043088
Kudos: 6





	Note from the Inquisitorial Archives #6

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was born out of my contemplation of two very important questions: a) how hard is it for Cain and Amberley to keep in touch while they're apart with the 40K universe's weird gaps in technology, and b) how drunk is Cain about to be when he starts pouring out yet another glass of amasec at the end of "The Traitor's Gambit"?

_Archival note: The following unpublished extract from the memoirs of Commissar Ciaphas Cain appears to take place just after his escape from the hijacked_ Wavecrest _, during his tenure as Commissarial Liaison Officer to the staff of Lord General Zyvan. The documents describing the events preceding it have already received some circulation under Inquisitor Amberley Vail's editorial control. This epilogue of sorts was likely intentionally excluded due to its frivolous and somewhat personal nature—although its annotations seem to suggest that Inquisitor Vail may have previously considered including it before changing her mind._

_\- Underscribe P. Plumb, 137.M42_

I did manage to goad Jurgen into sharing one glass of amasec with me as we watched the spectacular detonation of the doomed ship behind us, but he refused a refill, citing concerns that it would only increase his already inimical motion sickness. And with a few hours until we arrived at our destination, and not much to do apart from contemplate how narrowly we had just escaped death, I found myself finishing most of the rest of it myself. I hadn't even considered the effect the amasec might have in combination with the nagila I'd enjoyed earlier alongside my recently departed friend Governor Hoy, as all the ensuing excitement had made me feel like that pleasant evening had taken place several years ago. The unexpected result was that as we approached Lord General Zyvan's flagship, to put it lightly, I found myself in much less control of my mental faculties than I had been since I was a much younger and more reckless man.

Upon our arrival, my first attempt to remove myself from the extravagantly cushioned seat I had been confined to for the duration of the journey was thwarted by a wave of dizziness that forced me to sink right back down again.

"Are you alright, sir?" Jurgen asked, already on his feet.

"Jurgen," I began slowly, having some difficulty wrapping my head around the concept of conversation. "I seem to have a slight problem, by which I mean to say, it's entirely possible that, at the moment, I might be incredibly drunk."

I think he actually chuckled in response, which—being familiar with Jurgen's typical stone-faced reactions to all manner of extreme scenarios—really spoke to a great deal of amusement. "I'm not surprised by that, sir. Here, let me help."

I managed to shakily get to my feet with his assistance. He helpfully put an arm around me once I did, allowing me to continue steadying myself by leaning against him.

"I'd rather my . . . current inebriated state . . . _not_ become public knowledge, if at all possible," I said as we shuffled toward the exit of the life pod. Rather needlessly, since if anything Jurgen always had an aptitude for discretion, but I wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind to be making logical decisions about what needed to be said and what didn't.

"Of course not, sir," he replied. "Although I don't think anyone would blame you for having a few drinks, after what you just went through."

"Even so, it's not very dignified, is it? Not exactly a fitting look for a . . . a Hero of the Imperium." The last few words came out slightly garbled, but I trusted that Jurgen would pick up on the general idea from context.

"If you say so, sir. We are going to have to open the door now, though, so stand up as straight as you can."

The exit of the life pod hissed open, and I was immediately dismayed to come face-to-face with the Lord General, accompanied by several bodyguards.

"Ciaphas!" Zyvan exclaimed. "What in the Emperor's name happened out there? Are you alright? You're not injured, are you?"

"We had a run-in with some traitors, Lord General," Jurgen explained immediately. "I'm afraid the Governor didn't make it. Neither did any of them, though, thanks to Commissar Cain. You should have seen him in action—I'm not surprised he's completely exhausted now."

"Well, I'm not as young as I used to be, but I did my best," I added, feigning a self-effacing smile. Shockingly, the words came out decently coherently—something I credit to decades of practice speaking authoritatively while concealing tremors of fear.

"By the Throne!" Zyvan's face went pale with shock. "Poor Governor Hoy. He seemed like a decent man."

He was, and he also deserved some credit for taking one of the traitors down with him—but I wasn't in anywhere near the mood to start telling the whole story [1].

"Still, I'm glad _you're_ alright, Ciaphas. And you, Jurgen." That second sentence struck me as seeming a bit like an afterthought, but at least he didn't forget Jurgen was there entirely, which is more than I can say for a lot of other officers I've worked with. "You can wait until tomorrow to make a full report, after you've rested. I'll vox the staff and have a room prepared for you immediately—you can follow the corridor on your right to the guest quarters."

"Thank you, sir," said Jurgen. "Can you walk, Commissar?"

"I'm not quite _that_ old yet, Jurgen—but perhaps I wouldn't mind a bit of assistance," I retorted, thankful for the excuse to continue using his shoulder for support. After bidding goodnight to the Lord General, we made our way slowly in the direction that he had indicated, thankfully soon moving out of his line of sight and leaving him none the wiser about the real reason for my compromised condition [2].

Upon our arrival in the guest quarters, we did have to spend a few tense minutes waiting for the cleaning staff Zyvan had summoned to finish their work, but they were mercifully efficient, shortly vacating the room and leaving me to free fling myself onto the bed. It's a testament to the extremity of inebriation I was experiencing that I didn't even pay it any mind when this action caused my hat to tumble off my head and skid across the floor.

"Will you be needing anything before you go to sleep, sir? A glass of water, perhaps?" Jurgen asked.

"Sleep? Ha!" I propped myself up into a halfway seated position with the help of the bed's plentiful pillows, which felt especially firm and supportive relative to those in my accommodations on the _Wavecrest_. "Just because I don't want to _stand_ anymore doesn't mean I'm _tired_. Let's play a game of cards."

"If you'd like, sir."

Jurgen pulled an armchair up next to me, and I fished around in my pockets for the deck I had optimistically brought to Governor Hoy's quarters so much earlier that evening. Jurgen gently took it from me when my first attempt at shuffling went a bit awry.

"Thank you, Jurgen. You've always been better at shuffling than I am anyway. I think I dropped a card or two under the table there if you could—"

"Right away, sir." He knelt down on the floor without complaint, despite the length of our years together having taken more of a noticeable physical toll on him than me. "Ah, here they are. You've dropped the Emperor Himself just over here."

"Well, don't let anyone hear you say that."

"And the Inquisitor. We'd have a hard time playing, missing that one."

"Oh. Yes." Something in his specific wording, combined with the heightened emotions that tend to come with the state I was in, led me to an especially personal set of associations between that card and a certain someone I hadn't had the good luck of seeing in quite a while. "Yes, I'd have a hard time . . . without . . . the Inquisitor."

"Sir?"

Jurgen was back on his feet, peering down at me with a questioning expression that only made me feel even worse.

"By the Throne, Jurgen, I miss Amberley," I admitted with an uncharacteristic unguardedness, my mood having taken the sudden nosedive that tends to hit me at some point after a few too many drinks.

"I know you do, sir," Jurgen said, offering me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Come to think of it, I do too. Always nice having her around."

"What do you think she's doing right now?" I asked.

"Probably something classified far beyond our clearance level [3]," Jurgen replied with a smile.

I sighed and sunk deeper into the pillows. "You're probably right. I'll just have to hope that whatever it is brings her to this end of the galaxy sometime soon."

At that moment, just as suddenly as I had descended into moroseness, I was struck with the kind of foolish idea that seems genius while under the influence, and perked right back up again.

"Jurgen! I have a brilliant plan," I announced with glee.

"What's that, sir?"

"Well, since I want to talk to Amberley so much, why don't I just call her?"

" _Call_ her, sir? By what means?"

"That might not be quite the right word. But what I mean is, we're on the Lord General's flagship. It's bound to have one of those . . . things." I furrowed my eyebrows and gestured vaguely. "You know, the ones that can send a message . . . _astropath_! We're going to find Zyvan's astropath."

"Are we? Are you entirely certain that's a good idea, sir? At this time of night, and for entirely unofficial reasons?"

This may have been the most Jurgen ever dared to question me in all of our decades together, but to be fair to the man, I entirely deserved it. In fact, he probably should have done a lot more to try to stop me at the time than he did. But not to be deterred, I responded with a series of dismissive blustering noises before eventually forming something approaching another sentence.

"Of course it's a good idea, Jurgen. It's the best one I've had all night. Help me up—we're going on an important mission. Now where in the Emperor's name did I leave my frakking hat?"

* * *

At this point in the narrative, I must admit that my recollection of specific events becomes somewhat hazy, and my retelling is partially based on the details that Jurgen supplied me with once I had fully recovered [4]. What I do remember is stumbling down a seemingly endless series of twisting corridors, the map of the ship I was able to access having informed me that the astropath's quarters were a remarkable distance from everyone else's [5]. As Jurgen tells it, our progress on this journey was repeatedly hampered not only by some general drunken confusion about exactly which way we were going, but also by my repeated insistence that we were on a stealth mission, and had to avoid detection at any cost.

"May I ask, sir," Jurgen ventured at one point as we peered around an especially dark corner, "what information you're planning on communicating to Inquisitor Vail if we do find a willing and capable astropath at this hour?"

He claims I responded with wicked laughter the likes of which I have trouble imagining emanating from my own lips, and said something along the lines of, "Wouldn't _you_ like to know?", refusing to provide any more detail on the subject.

One incident of the night about which my memories haven't quite failed me is the moment when what little skill I have for stealth did. In a hurried attempt to avoid what looked like some more of Zyvan's cleaning staff, Jurgen and I whirled around in the opposite direction and almost careened straight into a young woman in an Imperial Navy uniform—one who struck me, upon regaining my bearings somewhat, as the type I would have been quite pleased for an excuse to talk to in my less discerning younger years [6].

The woman swiftly raised her hand in salute, apparently immediately recognizing my uniform—and unfortunately, a moment later, me personally. "Terribly sorry, I didn't see you there, Commissar—Commissar _Cain_?"

"Ah, yes. Uh . . . at ease," I responded, attempting to make the way I was steadying myself with a hand on the wall of the corridor look like a rakishly casual pose.

"Holy Emperor!" she exclaimed as she brought her hand down to her side. "I had heard you were aboard, but I didn't dare imagine I'd meet you in person, sir. I—I've read your book [7]!"

"Excellent!" My practiced smile grew into a genuine one as an idea for extricating myself from the conversation dawned on me. "Then you'll also be thrilled to meet the real unsung hero of the tale: my personal aide, Gunner Jurgen."

I gestured to the man beside me, who demonstrated an admirable aptitude for playing along.

"Pleased to meet you, miss," he added with a slight bow.

"Jurgen here has saved my life too many times for me to count—even more in the days since I wrote those humble musings. In fact, just earlier tonight, the ship we were on was beset upon by traitors, and _he_ . . . well, why don't you tell her, Jurgen?"

"If you say so, sir," Jurgen agreed.

Just as planned, the woman turned to him with rapture in her eyes, eager to hear about a new adventure in the lives of her ill-chosen heroes.

"The commissar and I were aboard the _Wavecrest_ , on a trip to assess the local PDF units with the Planetary Governor," Jurgen began, in a tone that seemed almost to imitate the persona I myself adopt when called upon to share stories of my alleged great deeds. "We had no idea, of course, how much danger we were really in. Now, since the Governor . . ."

And that's about the last I heard before, following a few slow and casual steps away from the two of them, I rounded a corner and completely made a break for it.

* * *

The next memory I have is of waking up, sore and disoriented, having apparently made it back to my quarters but somehow missed the bed.

"Sir? You'd better get up soon, sir."

Jurgen's familiar voice gradually became more distinct as I clawed my way into full consciousness, sitting up and snatching a mug of recaf from his hand.

"What time is it?" I managed to ask despite my mouth feeling dryer than the sands of Tallarn.

"0740, sir. You're expected to make a report to Lord General Zyvan in twenty minutes."

"Golden Throne," I groaned, taking a sip of the comfortingly warm beverage. "What time did I get to bed? Or rather, floor, I suppose."

"I'm not entirely sure, sir. I believe you managed to catch a few minutes of sleep in one of the corridors before I found you and made my best attempt at bringing you back here, although you weren't very cooperative. Did you ever make it to the astropath?"

"Huh." I stared down into the murky liquid of the recaf, trying to summon some semblance of clear recollection. "I have absolutely no idea."

"Perhaps best that you didn't, considering the state you were in?" Jurgen suggested.

"Perhaps so." With the ever-present aid of Jurgen's shoulder once more, I exerted the great effort necessary to get to my feet. "I'd better have a shower before facing Zyvan. If you could find me a clean uniform?"

"Very good, sir."

Despite the misadventures of the previous night, I managed to make it through the rest of that exhausting day—with much credit due to Jurgen providing a constant supply of recaf, as well as my general talent for projecting false confidence.

It wasn't until quite some time later that I was to receive one tantalizing hint about my actions in those forgotten hours, when Amberley mentioned a very strange astropathic communication that had been delivered to her at Ordo Xenos headquarters—but as to the exact contents of the message, she stubbornly refuses to elucidate.

* * *

_Inquisitor Vail's Footnotes:_

_[1] Although he doesn't say so directly, I imagine that part of the commissar's motivation for drinking so heavily was his sadness at the loss of his friend, however relatively brief their acquaintance was._

_[2] Having personally seen Cain after a bit too much amasec on more than a few occasions, I suspect that he wasn't quite as subtle as he thought he was. It's possible that Lord General Zyvan was entirely aware of his inebriated state and merely refrained from comment._

_[3] Correct, if I have my timeline straightened out properly._

_[4] I suspect this is true of much of the surrounding text, casting even more doubt than usual on the veracity of some of Cain's specific claims._

_[5] Likely due to astropaths' typical preference for a great deal of space and seclusion with which to perform their esoteric duties, which are of course usually needed to send messages about much more pressing concerns than those that were apparently on the commissar's mind at this juncture._

_[6] Cain may be obliquely referring her to a brief romance he had early in his career with a woman who served in the Imperial Navy aboard the_ Hand of Vengeance. _As I believe I already mentioned in my annotations to that section of his memoirs, no regulations technically forbid such a relationship, as the authority of a commissar to the Guard does not officially extend to members of the Navy—however, this doesn't mean it wouldn't be somewhat frowned upon, and Cain seems to have accordingly thought better of seeking out any further connections of the same nature by this later stage of his life._

 _[7] The unnamed woman would undoubtedly be referring not to any of these later memoirs, which had not yet been written, but to Cain's earlier and much less honest published work_ To Serve The Emperor: A Commissar's Life. _The fact that she seems not only to have chosen to read that stiff and overly garrulous tome, but to have apparently enjoyed it, raises some serious questions about this unfortunate fan's taste in literature._


End file.
